Overture
by bigbadamon
Summary: I didn't remember him - I hate myself for forgetting. But I swear, I'll never forget him again. { it's a brief summary, I know, but I don't want to give much away. Rated M for reasons: language, alcohol/smoking, abuse, illnesses. }
1. Uneven Odds

**disclaimer. **I, unfortunately, do not own anything related to The Vampire Diaries; characters, show, nada.

_As your Guardian,_

_I was instructed well,_

_to make sense of God's love,_

_in these fires of Hell._

_"Damon! Wait up!" a brunette shouted out for the boy in front of her, her long legs pumping beneath in attempts to catch the sprinting child in front of her. He was pale, with unruly dark hair, but most of all—he was shorter than her. And not to mention faster. Peering over his shoulder, he threw a laugh and finally came to a complete stop._

_With her hands on her knees, she paused in front of him, feeling as if someone had shoved something hot down her throat. She could barely get enough air in and out of her lungs. The boy came closer, placing a hand on her back. "In and out, 'Lena," he coaxed, stroking her shoulder. Smiling, she slowly nodded._

_"You run fast," she stated, still a bit out of breath but breathing nonetheless. The five-year-old flashed a mouth full of white teeth at her, shoving his hands into his pockets. _

_"Yeah, I can almost out run my Dad!" he exclaimed proudly, though his head was shifted down at his feet sheepishly. _

_Elena's eyes were alit as she gazed at the boy in adoration. "Really!" she gasped when he nodded. "I can't even out run my brother. And he's only a year older than me," she pouted, crossing her arms across her chest. Quirking his mouth to the side thoughtfully, Damon finally gripped her arms, grinning._

_"I'll teach you! I'll teach you how to run fast like I do! Then we can run together!" he stated, the excited gleam in his cerulean hues soon reflecting in doe ones._

_"Really? Thank you!" Elena threw her arms around the boy, nearly crushing his lanky body. But he never complained, only grimaced when she wasn't looking from the slight irritation of being smashed._

_"You know, you're my best friend, 'Lena," he stated, his hand reaching out to grasp hers. _

_"Yeah, I know," Elena replied and they made their way back into the school, the bell signaling the last recess of Kindergarten. _

**Twelve Years Later**

The memory had long since left my mind; I would not be reminded of such a day until the familiar pair of blue hues looked me in the eye once more—as bright as they always were. The day was January 7th, 2011, the first day of school after a long Christmas break during my senior year of high school. It's actually a wonder that I remember the memory so vividly.

I was rushing down the stairs, my hair drawn up in a messy bun while I was trying to simultaneously slip my jacket and shoes on while brushing my teeth. I rinsed and spit using the sink, placed my tooth brush down onto the counter, and left quickly after grabbing my keys.

The drive to the school last no more than a few minutes that not even a Katy Perry song could be completely enjoyed. I lived in Mystic Falls, Virginia—a small town with only a few hundred people, a large forest, and a small lake. Usually, I was cursing the small town for its blandness, tradition, and gossip—but today I was thanking the good Lord above for such a small drive to make me on time for my first day back.

As valedictorian, I had an attendance to keep clean for my records. A good student equaled a good college and a good college equaled a good future—and that's all I thought of at the time. _A good future._ I wanted to get out of town and I only had the time for two things: work and school.

I think of how focused I was and laugh to myself because I was so clueless; so clueless to what God had in store for me. I wasn't very religious back then, being eighteen, but I still believed I had a purpose and I did. But it was not to create my own firm or publish a book about teenage romance or be a teacher. Actually, my purpose was much more important than any of those vocations.

So I listened to the first three minutes and thirty-six seconds of "I Can't Make You Love Me" by Bon Iver before I arrived at Mystic Falls High, parking in my usual spot near the back door leading into Senior Hall.

It was a pretty basic and normal day for me—one of the very many reasons I hated Mystic Falls: everyone seemed to be moving robotically. My mother use to say there were two ways to break the cycle: you die or you leave. Though most were too dim-witted to choose the latter.

"Miss Gilbert," my daydreams of a small sign off I-85 reading 'Now leaving Virginia' were interrupted by a stern tone. I looked up from where I had been scribbling the number six repeatedly on my notebook to see Mr. Saltzman gentle hazel eyes staring back at me.

He grinned. Alaric Saltzman was the history teacher, and also my uncle. Him and my Aunt Jenna had married out of college, about ten years ago, and had twins: Miranda and Jason. He was always patient with me when I dozed off—he too once shared the desire to leave Mystic Falls years ago but he said the town had an act of pulling people back.

I had no intention of allowing this hell to do that to me.

"Open your book to page three hundred," he repeated, and I noticed the corner of his mouth threatening to curl into a smirk. Rolling my eyes, I reached into my backpack, only to realize I had mistaken my AP Calculus textbook for my World History textbook.

"Uh, I accidentally grabbed my Calculus book—can I go switch it out?" I asked, hearing a soft laugh behind me. I glanced over my shoulder at a bubbly blonde I had been able to call my friend since she had been born.

Caroline Forbes was probably the most beautiful woman to ever be born in Mystic Falls. Next to her, I felt reduced to the image of a troll. Her hair was naturally silken and shiny and so easy to style while mine was straight, a bitch to curl, and a dull brown. Her eyes literally reduced sapphires to shame while mine was similar to mud.

I gave her a brief, unamused glanced before I stood and made my way into the hallway, having to walk down Junior Hall. Echoing off the walls, I heard rather loud whispers. I remember creeping closer to the voice until I could hear clearly what, by the sounds of it, Mr. Tanner was saying. When I finally did pick up on them, my hand covered my mouth. While it's been so many years since that moment, I still remember them to this day.

"I already fucking went over this. There's reason the others have passed you along you dumbass bastard—that bullet in your father's skull was due to incompetence that you are so clearly full of."

I had made my presence known when I gasped, my head peaking around the corner. Mr. Tanner's wide black eyes stared at mine before he quickly made his way back into his classroom. Mr. Tanner was an Algebra II teacher as well as a football coach; an extreme hard-ass and an overall asshole that Ric and I had continually discussed his assassination.

A desk had been brought out to the hall, occupied by a rather broad body. I was staring at the back of his hair, covered in raven hair that was currently fisted in two large hands. As I made my way closer, I could see his shoulders were shaking—and I thought perhaps he was crying. But his breathing became increasingly louder and I rushed closer to notice he was trying to breathe.

He must have heard me because he immediately looked at me, bright cerulean hues wide like a caged animal. And then, slowly but surely, his breathing even out as his eyes softened. My mouth was opened to speak but I couldn't find words to say—what do you say to someone who was just called a dumbass bastard by his teacher?

"Hi."

Well that was a start.

He was unresponsive, but if he had spoken, I most likely wouldn't have been paying attention—instead, I was too busy glancing over his body. Now, I periodically forget the previous day's events, but I can still remember what _he _was wearing: dark jeans, a tight white shirt, a leather jacket, and leather boots. I even remember glancing under the desk to look at what style of shoes he wore.

You can always tell a man by the shoe he wears.

"Hi," I finally heard his voice. Here was a guy literally cowering but his body suggested he could quite easily be a linebacker and his voice hardly sounded like the voice of a high schooler—he sounded like a man.

Slowly he stood and I had to take a step back. He was tall—most likely about six feet. We stood in awkward silence, my eye wide as I continued to stare up at him. He let out a brief cough, motioning down with his eyes and I noticed his hand was extended towards me.

His hands were big too.

I felt absolutely intimidated by someone who not moments before was quivering at the voice of a five foot six inch football coach whose been bitter ever since he tore his ACL in a bowl game while he was in college. However, I sucked in a breath and straightened my posture. I was valedictorian after all; it should be my duty to take care of the fresh meat around school. Sliding my hand in his, I squeezed his fingers politely.

"Elena Gilbert," I introduced with a grin. He grinned back—a purely white, All-American crooked grin that I was immediately won over by—and squeezed my hand back.

"Damon Salvatore," he introduced, looking rather expectant towards me. The name, no doubt, sounded familiar, and so I stood there with my hand still in his. I contemplated about where I'd seen the name or possibly heard it. There's a kid named Damian in sophomore class but the name Damon just seemed like a character perhaps my mother had read from a storybook.

Slowly I slipped my hand out of his, and I noticed his grin falter and I hoped I hadn't offended him.

"I guess I'll get back to class," he murmured quietly, reaching down beside the desk to grab his backpack. It was camouflage with a badge sewed onto the front that read: Private Giuseppe "Pope" Salvatore; United Stated Marine Corps.

That name sounded familiar too.

I watched as he began to slip his book into his bag and suddenly, an idea popped into my head. I'm ashamed to admit it—but when the idea occurred to me, it was not supplemented by the thought I'd be helping another. Instead, it was followed by the fantasy that in my resume I would have a file on how I tutored someone in Algebra II during my senior year. It would definitely back up a career as a professor if that's what I desired to do in the next decade.

"I could tutor you—if you want," I blurted out, hugging my Calculus book to my chest as I shifted from one foot to the other.

He glanced over me, skeptical no doubt, his eyes becoming narrow.

"Most people don't wanna spend that much time with me," he murmured. "Besides, I'll pass math. Perhaps not with the _best_ grade, but I'll pass," he assured, and I thought I heard something muttered below his breath but he said it so quietly I could not detect any clear vocabulary.

"Why don't people want to spend time with you?" I demanded and immediately blushed as the words fell from my mouth. I wanted to be a journalist—what could I say?

He, fortunately, grinned at me. "I'ma smoker, Elena—I drink too. They had to give me a Breathalyzer test before I entered the building today," he canted his head to the side, motioning towards one of the on-campus police who was standing in the hall, staring directly at Damon.

Damon seemed to pay him no attention whatsoever.

"Why?" I asked once more, suddenly very curious of the male before me.

"Criminal record—I have a lot of DUI's," he shrugged his shoulders. "But I promised my Uncle I'd be good if he let me come back to Mystic Falls so—"

"Wait," I interjected him. Yes, it was rude—where do the manners of a woman go when they become a senior?—but I had to ask. "You were out of Mystic Falls—out of this hell hole—and you came back?" I exclaimed.

Damon nodded calmly, leaning against the desk with a single strap from his back pack perched onto his shoulder. "Yes I did," he murmured, staring at me rather intently.

_Am I still blushing_?

"Why?" I repeated, taking a step closer. I watched his mouth closely—though, at the time, I had not realized I'd taken an interest to his lips—as they twitched up into a small smirk, his eyes glistening.

"Would you be satisfied if I told you that you'd soon find out?" he asked softly, his voice warm, comforting, and familiar.

God it was going to drive me crazy not knowing why he was so familiar.

"No," I replied tartly and he let out a hearty laugh.

"Of course not. Perhaps you'll figure it out. You are going to be my tutor, no?" he mused, a dark brow raised.

Sighing, I nodded with a scowl. I did not like surprises—I never have.

"See ya later, 'Lena Gilbert," he drawled before disappearing into Mr. Tanner's classroom.

I looked at that door for the next seventy years until Ric finally called me back to World History.

**an. **so i have the entire fic practically mapped out so hopefully I won't abandon this fic.

xx. bigbadamon


	2. Bruises

**disclaimer. **i own nothing of The Vampire Diaries. How unfortunate this is.

* * *

_These bruises make for better conversation,_

_loses the vibe the separates,_

_it's good to let you in again,_

_you're not alone and how you been?_

_Everybody loses,_

_we all have bruises._

_That boy with the unruly hair was fourteen. His lanky body was beginning to broaden, his thin shoulders becoming wide and his hands were becoming larger. His hair and bright eyes remained the same. _

_He sat at his kitchen table, paying much more attention to the markings in the oak than to the test in front of him. Instead of seeing a math test, he saw a page with nothing but a series of variables and numbers amongst multiplication symbols and fractions. His head throbbed, lean fingers yanking at raven follicles as his leg shook beneath the table._

_He'd been there an hour, staring at a test with eighteen questions on it. He would stare at the equation before slowly think of a number that was most likely incorrect. The only section of the test he was absolutely certain of was his name—the date he'd written would be found incorrect. _

_When he finished his test and slid it across the table to the woman across from him, Mrs. Howie, she gave him a wary glance. The calendar read the second of June—he wrote the eighth of March. Mrs. Howie excused herself from the room for a moment as Damon sat there, staring at the patterns in the oak table._

_June second._

_His mother had been dead for seven years—announced dead on June 2__nd__, 1999._

_He got a C- on the test; not a single question he answered correctly._

**Four years later**

I wouldn't talk to Damon Salvatore again until two days had passed. There was something in the way he looked at me—like he _knew_ me. Sweet irony, thou art a heartless bitch. I'll apologize to Damon for my foolishness and forgetful mind within a few months' time, but, for now, let us focus on the beginning.

I sat at the same table with the same group of friends during the lunch hour—the closest to the door with Bonnie Bennett, Caroline Forbes, Tyler Lockwood, and Matt Donovan.

Bonnie Bennett was a small and sweet girl with lovely dark skin and chocolate colored hair that matched her eyes. Tyler Lockwood was broad and lean with a cocky attitude and his own opinion on everything. He was a typical football player. Our best friend, Matt Donovan, however, was a completely polar opposite to what you expected of a Mystic Falls Timberwolves player; he was muscular, like Tyler, but instead of dark hair and black eyes, he had short blond hair with comforting blue eyes.

Matt Donovan and I were inseparable as kids—hell, we're inseparable now—we even shared a crib as infants. His mother and mine were good friends. His mother tended to lean on mine for support. See, Kelly Donovan had a drug problem throughout high school, besides a small intermission during the time she became pregnant with Matt, and picked up the nasty habit in her mid-twenties. The father had left her with two children (Matt had a younger sister) and she was working two separate jobs. Her money was going to her addiction while her children would complain of how their stomachs ached.

My mother was able to get Kelly off the drugs—until she died in 2009, the summer before my junior year. Kelly left town afterwards and never spoke to Matt or Vicki, his little sister, again.

Matt was forced to work two separate jobs: managing the bar while being the bust boy at the Grill and local yard work. Unfortunately, he spent about half as many hours working at the Grill than doing yard work but he got about double his salary mowing, raking, and trimming lawns around town than scrubbing down the bar.

This isn't my story to tell. Allow me to move on.

I picked at my food. School lunches were never very aesthetically pleasing to the eye—nor were they anymore pleasing to the mouth. However, when I peeked up at Tyler, he was scarfing down what looked to be beef stroganoff. Although, I've never seen beef stroganoff blink at me.

I shivered and pushed away my tray. I kept silent during this lunch period, glancing amongst my friends as I listened into their normal conversations: football, pep club, _the new kid_. My attention was immediately caught as Caroline began to mention a boy with dark hair that beside her in Chemistry. She said he was extremely good at memorizing the periodic table even though he'd never bothered to look at one beforehand.

And then she continued:

"We've only said about two things to each other—both consisting of the word 'Hey'. But I swear, I felt something!" she squealed, grinning at all of us.

"Do you even know his name?" Matt grunted, glancing over at Tyler who was smirking with heavy amusement.

"It's Daniel," she snorted.

I couldn't help myself, I laughed. I don't know why I laughed, but I did. When people put so much confidence into an incorrect statement, it causes me to giggle—especially when _I_ knew the correct answer.

"His name is Damon," I corrected, receiving a quizzical glance from everyone sitting around the table.

"And how do you know?" Matt demanded, narrowing his blue eyes.

"I'm tutoring him in math," I replied calmly, shrugging my shoulders. "He needs the help—and you should have heard the awful things Tanner was saying to him," I added, finally earning sympathetic glances from the table. Even Tyler whose eyes had become naturally stoic in his teenage years.

"Ouch," Tyler muttered, downing the rest of his water before clapping Matt's shoulder. "You ready?" he asked before the two stood, saying their goodbyes, and leaving to dump their trays.

I waited for Bonnie and Caroline to finish their meals, and once more my train of thought began wondering free. My eyes had a habit of wondering with them, often times leaving me staring blankly at another person. But this person was worth staring at.

When I regained focus of where I was, I noticed I had been staring into blue eyes from across the lunch room. Damon was sitting by himself—I wish I would have noticed him before I walked in—without a tray in front of him. His gaze, like always, held a sense of longing in them.

We hadn't spoken since Monday but we'd seen each other in the halls, and when I'd go to my locker, I'd glance in his direction to meet his penetrating gaze head on. It wasn't overbearing or, for lack of a better word, _stalker-ish_ but rather sad. It was if he was silently begging me to read his mind and I so badly wanted to.

I had gotten lost in pools of cerulean before a series of snaps alarmed in my ear. Turning, I noticed Bonnie and Caroline staring at me.

"Did you say something?" I asked, once more returning to poking the stroganoff on my tray.

"You ready to go?" Bonnie repeated and I nodded. We dumped out our trays and left.

I guess I didn't notice Damon wave goodbye to me.

Another thing I wish I would have noticed.

**Two days afterwards, Friday, January 11****th****, 2011**

I know what true frustration was—the exhaustion of walking from my bed to the bathroom located a convenient thirty feet from my bed, raising three children; hell, raising _one_ was frustrating enough. However, none compared to teaching Damon Salvatore Algebra II.

"Come on—we've been through this already; the answer is negative nine or positive three," I repeated, motioning to the work I had done to prove the solution.

It was my first day of tutoring Damon and boy was I over my head with this guy. He absolutely had no idea what we were talking about—although he could repeat to me the entire periodic table. I knew he was smart. Not just because I had witnessed a fraction of it, but sometimes you could look at another and just see the knowledge in their eyes. Blue hues were drowning in it.

We were in my bedroom, sitting on top of my bed with a bag of chips—now nearly gone—between us. I could tell he was paying attention but he just didn't get it.

"How'd you figure out what 'b' was?" he asked, running a hand through his hair for the fifth time.

I stared at him hard, my lips pressing together in a hard line. I was silent while he stared at the book in front of him. Apparently he noticed the silence because he looked up to see my expression—which must not have been too nice because he shot a look I'd never forget.

It was hard, defensive even, with cerulean orbs becoming stormy as they glared back at me. He knew what I was thinking, he always did; he knew I thought he was brain dead in that moment. The look made me shrink back against my headboard as he spoke through a clenched jaw.

"If you didn't want to help the dumb kid, you could'a just said somethin'," he snapped before he moved up from the bed and exited the room.

Guilt ran into me like a freight train, crushing my body. I immediately jumped up and hurried after him. He moved fast.

I found him in my backyard, cigarette hanging from his mouth as he lit it expertly with a match. I smiled very faintly as he brushed the smoking tip on the concrete of my patio before tossing it into the trash by my father's grill.

He turned when he noticed me, pulling the cigarette from his mouth before blowing a cloud of smoke out from the corner of his mouth.

"You could have said somethin'," he repeated with a grunt, flicking cigarette ash on the patio.

"You're not stupid, Damon," I said gently, settling into one of the patio chairs as I watched him expertly drag the cigarette repeatedly from his mouth, flick ash, and place it back into his mouth.

He glanced over at me, silent. I could see the anger slowly roll away from him in waves, and slowly, his blue eyes once more gave me that _look_.

"Why must you look at me like that?" I sighed, shutting my eyes.

"Like what?" I heard his soft reply as he settled into the patio chair across from me.

"As if you expect me to get some secret message," I said, opening my eyes to find him grinning at me, cigarette remaining in his mouth.

Withdrawing the cigarette from his mouth, he flicked the last remaining ash before stomping on the smoking butt and promptly throwing it into the trash.

"I've only had two best friends in my entire life—to be quite honest, I really only had _two_ friends," he mused. "Lorenzo Augustine and you," he murmured.

I was taken back; shocked. My mouth gaping open, I attempted to reply, but he waved a hand to stop me.

"It's pretty obvious you don't remember," he said gently. "I suppose most wouldn't—but like I said, I've only really had two friends. It's not hard to remember two people," he murmured. "It was Kindergarten. We use to run on the field all the time—past the baseball field. And Ms. Cooper would grab our ears and drag us back to the playground," he smiled, tugging on his earlobe.

The memory was lost, but I did distinctly remember Ms. Cooper dragging me by the earlobe. "But… I just don't remember you," I murmured and I could see his smile deflate slightly.

"I, uh," he scratched the back of his neck, "on the last day of school I told you I'd teach you to run. You didn't like it when I beat you because I was three inches smaller and I was constantly having to jog to keep up with your strides," he began to ramble, desperate no doubt for me to remember.

"I told you that you were my best friend. I think I was with you three days in total before I left," he murmured. "We went swimming together and you thought you could handle the deep end because I could. You about drown," he licked his lips. "I drug you over to the side where you could grab on."

When you nearly drown in a pool, it sticks with you. I remembered him—faintly, but it was something.

I grinned and nodded. "Yes! Yes, I remember that!" I giggled.

Damon's mood immediately seemed to inflate, a bright smile beaming towards me. "You wouldn't let go of me. I 'bout drowned!"

His laugh was contagious. My cheeks hurt from how much I was smiling.

We returned back to tutoring.

He still didn't get variables but he was happy.

* * *

**an. **That's chapter two! It's long - I apologize, I ramble - but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Leave a review and tell me what you think?


	3. Home

**disclaimer.** I sadly own nothing of The Vampire Diaries.

* * *

_Cause they say home _

_is where your heart is set in stone_

_is where you go when you're alone_

_is where you go to rest your bones_

**January 17, 2011**

I had continued to tutor Damon every day after the ninth, except the weekend. Less so because of his lack of knowledge in the subject but more due to my new recollection of Damon. There wasn't much he could really tell me about the time we knew each other since we had both been so young.

He told me once how he use to hate the fact I was taller and stronger. I laughed. He had definitely grown out of what he described to be a very lanky figure.

In terms of Algebra II, however, it became less about my record and more about my stubbornness to give up. Monday, the fourteenth of January, we had spent thirty minutes arguing about how I had explained thoroughly how you found the value for each variable of the equation—and that's when he told me.

He didn't know how to do _Algebra_. I was confused at first, most likely from exhaustion and frustration. He continued to explain that he never learned the basics of Algebra I or Pre-Algebra for that matter. And so, we ceased the lesson for that day to instead go downstairs where my father was making burgers. The smell had drifted into my room, driving Damon nearly insane. They smelt delicious.

In simple terms, my father was my father—anyone who wasn't Tyler Lockwood or Matt Donovan and possessed testicles was forbidden to be around me. However, my father soon took a liking to Damon when he spoke of his father's war stories. Grayson Gilbert was a retired Army man who loved talking about his days on the battlefield. Each one, he believed, held a moral lesson (although he told me and my brother Jeremy, who was studying abroad while I was a senior, and all we ever got out of it was war sucked).

Ultimately, it resulted in Damon gaining not only _a_ hamburger but _five_. My father and I watched with our mouths open, wondering how much he could hold until he finally stopped after the fifth, looking sheepishly at the two of us.

"Sorry," he murmured, wiping the ketchup from the corner of his mouth. "I don't eat enough," he explained, popping the last remaining chip from his plate into his mouth.

"Hell, boy," my father laughed. "One would think you'd been starving," he walked around the table to grab Damon's plate, clapping his shoulder.

It was a nice night.

The next day I went out and purchased two middle school workbooks: one on Pre-Algebra and the other on Algebra I. Obviously, we wouldn't have time to go through both books entirely, pick back up and complete Algebra II, and then have Damon ace the final exam to graduate.

When I showed him the workbooks, he grimaced. It was typical of males not to fancy something that looked like a lot of homework—especially if they didn't get the subject given to them.

"Do I have to do all of that?" he was practically pouting as he slowly flipped through the Pre-Algebra workbook one by one.

"No," I said, giving him a pointed look. "But you're gonna have to do some of it on your own time. If you don't get the questions, you always bring them to me during our sessions and ask me for help," I grinned, earning a small smile from him.

And so, we had been focusing on Pre-Algebra since Tuesday. It was now Thursday.

Pre-Algebra was actually very simple to explain to Damon: simple variables and formulas. Once he figured out it was just a bunch of plugging in numbers already given, he seemed to progress exponentially. He'd brought his workbook to me that day and nearly half of it had been filled out.

I checked the "assignment" I had given to him, only to find the incorrect answers were simple mistakes such as forgetting to flip the integer or misreading his own numbers and doing the entire equation with the number six instead of nine.

Either way, he was able to correct and finish them. Like I mentioned earlier, we wouldn't have the time to go through two separate subjects and then get to Algebra II, so I figured we would continue with Pre-Algebra and Algebra throughout the next few weeks, including the weekends, before switching to Geometry.

Yes, yes, I could ramble about these details all day. Math and the mechanics of my tutoring to Damon—but in this time of my life, I'm much too tired. So I'll get on.

I tutored Damon approximately two to four hours each day. After talking to him for too long, he'll often put his head in his hands and complain about a headache or eye strain. So, I ended that session an hour and a half early.

I figured Damon would head home but the only move he had made was closing his math book and laying his head down at the end of the bed where he was lying on his stomach.

I was shifting uncomfortably where I sat, gazing from him to the bedroom door and then towards the ceiling. It was awkward—I'd never had a male so comfortable in my bed and, besides that, he was supposed to leave.

"Damon," I murmured, watching as his bright eyes open immediately gaze at me.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Um…Are you gonna…" my gaze flickered towards the door before slowly returning to Damon. The raven-haired boy was smirking at me as he closed his eyes once more.

"Nope," he drawled, resting his cheek to my mattress. In the inside, I smile. He really did seem like he belonged there—and not in any sexual way, believe me that was the last thing on my mind, but in the way your best friend sits on your bed and it's not strange.

I couldn't help but wonder if this is how it would have been if Damon would have stayed in Mystic Falls and grown up with me. He still hadn't given me a reason of why left and he seemed very reluctant to. I was very curious about the boy sprawled out on my bed.

Staring down at him, I noticed his eye peek open to gaze back, a smirk everlasting on his lips. My nose scrunched up as I refrained from grinning back. Instead, I jumped up from the bed and made my way towards the door. I quickly heard the sock-clad footsteps of Damon Salvatore at my heels.

I quickly learned Damon had no regard for personal space and seemed to enjoy doing everything in close proximity—at least with me he did. He walked right behind me like a pup at my heels and would linger when Matt or Tyler approached us during rare occasions when I'd talk to Damon in the hallways of our school. But, of course, it would just be another essential I was oblivious to.

We made our way downstairs where I motioned towards the bookshelf my father had placed by the television whose purpose was to hold movies instead of books. I watched Damon move over to glance at each movie, expecting the name on each spine. Some he would pull out and read the synopsis on the back while others he would simply skim over without interest.

Finally, he plucked out a movie and held it up. His choice floored me. Guys usually picked something in my father's range of favorites: Red Tails, Top Gun, Legends of the Fall, and so on and so forth. Damon Salvatore, however, picked one of the most devastating chick flicks alongside The Notebook: P.S. I Love You.

"You like that movie?" I tripped over my tongue, genuinely surprised. He flashed a crooked grin at me and shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah."

"And not just for Holly topless in the beginning?"

"I don't watch movies to ogle," he drawled, a small smirk twitching at his lips. "I like the movie. It's sad, it's funny, it's morally uplifting, and it offers a distraction to those who think their lives have gone to shit. I've had a rough few years but I think Holly has it worse than I. It's inspirational."

Once more, I was floored by Damon fucking Salvatore. A lot of the kids at school believed Damon was borderline stupid because of his difficulties with math and it was at times such as that moment where I wished I had a camera to film his words.

He put in the movie while I worked on making the popcorn, getting the soda, and retrieving some pillows.

The first twenty minutes passed by comfortably—even through the infamous shirtless Holly scene and the death of Gerry as I allowed a subtle tear to fall. Damon, always so observant, quickly wiped it away without any lingering touches or longing looks. He rid my cheek of the tear and turned back to the television.

That's what I liked about Damon—he was brief and chaste and quiet. A few days prior I had been thinking about him and I remember describing him as a wallflower, but he was much too big and masculine to be a wall_flower_, so I renamed him as a wall_tree. _

After those comfortable twenty minutes, however, we had finished our first sodas and set the cans on the coffee table, and Damon quickly demolished the bowl of popcorn so there was no point in holding an empty bowl. Our hands settled at our sides, but we had difficulty with keeping them from brushing the others. The first time it happened, I hadn't noticed my hand had settled on top of Damon's until he slowly slipped it away to scratch the back of his neck.

For the next hundred minutes, we alternated between bringing our attention to the movies and keeping our hands from one another. Towards the end of the movie, Damon settled for crossing his arms across his chest. That was, until I turned into a blubbery, sobbing mess, trying to wipe away my onslaught of tears pouring from my eyes. Damon reached forward to grasp my hand, fingers intertwining with mine as he pulled me closer.

I settled my cheek against his shoulder, both of us allowing my tears to stain his shirt. I had watched this movie with Caroline, Bonnie, Ty, and Matt, but each time the girls ended up just as I was then: a crying mess. And the boys had the pleasure of mocking us for crying. Damon, however, was silent as he watched the screen in front of us until the end credits began to scroll down as "If I Ever Leave This World Alive" by Flogging Molly filled the room.

Damon turned to me, once more ridding my cheeks of the endless stream of tears soaking them. His hands were gentle, thumb wiping my face until my cheeks were dry. And then, he immediately let go of my hand and moved to take the two empty soda cans and bowl of popcorn into the kitchen. He placed the soda cans on the counter before rinsing the popcorn bowl and setting it into the dishwasher

I remember watching him, very confused. He was rather tender and there were things he did that seemed to point to the possibility he may be interested but then…he'd abruptly end them. I was still very curious about who Damon Salvatore was, and the curiosity would go on to exist for decades, but at the time I was determined to figure the raven-haired boy out.

He glanced over his shoulder at me, who was still staring, throwing a smirk in my direction. I blushed, moving my head down to hide my flush cheeks. After a moment, I peeked back up over the couch to see him move upstairs for a brief amount of time before he returned with his backpack and leather jacket.

"It's late. I don't want your father coming home to see I've yet to leave," he murmured, looking rather reluctant even as he grabbed his keys from the dinner table.

My father was a doctor and often worked a late shift and most likely wouldn't be back from another two hours, possibly more. But Damon didn't know that and while my father was quite fond of Damon, Damon probably didn't want this movie night looking anything more than it was.

I nodded, standing as Damon worked on slipping on his boots. I walked with him outside to where his car was parked in front of the house. Stopping beside the Camaro, he turned to me, once more giving me that longing look of his before he slowly smiled.

"Thank you. For having the patience to put up with me," he said softly, opening the passenger door to set his backpack on the leather seat before closing it behind him.

"You're not the worst company in the world, Damon—a pain in the ass, yes, but not the worst company," I replied, much to his amusement. He smirked at me, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"I suppose trying to teach math to someone who's supposed to be legally an adult is…challenging," he drawled. I wanted to tell him how much of an understatement his words were but I didn't want to alter his good mood; they were so rare to witness.

"Have a good night, Damon," I whispered, but as I turned to leave, a cool hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me back.

What shocked me was feeling a soft pair of lips on my cheek, warmth radiating through my face even as the mouth retreated from my skin. I was dazed as I turned to meet Damon's cerulean eyes. He was close.

_Very _close.

Our noses were nearly brushing against each other as we exchanged a long look, a kaleidoscope of emotions reflecting in both of our eyes: surprise, anticipation, vulnerability, want. It all seemed to swell inside me as my gaze flickered down to his lips.

Damon's rare moment of lingering ended much too soon, however. He took a step back, having the audacity to smirk breathlessly at me before whispering back, "Goodnight, Elena." And then he was gone, getting into his car and driving away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk nearly panting from the sheer proximity Damon had put us in.

Although I was very much stunned by the action, as I made my way back up my porch and into my home, I found myself smiling, and I was still smiling even as I fell asleep that night.

* * *

**an. **Sorry this took so long! It's been hectic this past two weeks really and I haven't had the time to really write very much. I hope you guys like it, nonetheless. And leave me some reviews so I know I'm doing somethin' right! xx. bigbadamon


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